I Can't Make You Love Me, but I Can Make You Leave

by Dixie Cash

  “Eat shit, Mike. You too, Eddie.”

  “What the hell did I do?” Eddie said. “Keep your fuckin’ hateful mouth to youself, little lady. Or you might find yourself without a keyboard for your big debut.”

  Roxie turned around and gave him the finger. “That’s what I think of you and your keyboard, you old doper.”

  Just then Bob walked in rolling a huge suitcase. “Roxie! Can’t I leave you alone for a minute? Can’t you get along with anyone?”

  “I thought you were going to take a shower and go to bed,” Darla said.

  “I would have, but my wonderful husband just now got around to bringing me my suitcase.” She walked over and snatched the handle from him. “You know, Bobby Boy, you’d better be careful. I just might not favor you with a tip, if you know what I mean.” She gave him an evil smile. “Those BJs don’t come cheap.”

  “Rox—”

  “Jesus Christ, Roxie,” Mike said before Bob could get his wife’s name out. Darla threw a look Bob’s way. His face had turned a color she had never seen.

  “There’s just no end to it with you, is there?” Mike said to Roxie. “We’d all be better off if you weren’t even on this tour. We wouldn’t even miss you.” He turned to Darla. “Which bedroom are you and Valetta Rose taking?”

  “Uh, the first one,” Darla answered. “I assume Bob and Roxie will take the master bedroom.”

  “Which is nothing but a stupid joke,” Roxie said. “That bathroom doesn’t even have a walk-in shower.”

  Eddie picked up his canvas duffel. “Come on, Mike, let’s put our stuff at the end of the sofa in that other room. We ought to get out of this kitchen in case a big-ass lightning bolt decides to come down and give that bitch what she deserves.”

  “I hear you,” Mike said and picked up his own suitcase.

  “I need to go outside for a smoke,” Eddie added.

  The two of them walked out of the kitchen.

  “Good riddance,” Roxie said, and left the kitchen dragging her suitcase.

  Darla heaved a sigh and looked at Bob.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said to her, then turned to Valetta Rose. “Honey, if you want to share the bedroom with Roxie, I’ll sleep on the sofa. There’s a king-size bed in the master. The two of you should be comfortable.”

  “Are you sure?” Valetta Rose asked.

  “Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Bob answered.

  Darla gave him another long look as a thousand questions swirled like smoke in her mind.

  Chapter Seven

  The drive from downtown Salt Lick to Edwina’s double-wide was short, but it seemed like it had lasted forever. Debbie Sue usually enjoyed Edwina’s company, but this evening the skinny brunette was talking like a magpie and hadn’t stopped for a breath once. When she got out of the pickup, Debbie Sue let out a whoosh of air.

  The drive to her own home, on the other hand, was silent. She didn’t even turn on the radio, which usually blared out a tune as she drove. Sometimes she sang along, but thinking about getting up on that stage had left her mute. Singing with the radio was one thing, but anticipating a performance in front of a real audience was sobering, even if she and Edwina wouldn’t really be singing.

  She crossed the cattle guard at the entrance to her and Buddy’s twenty-five acres and headed up the long driveway for home. In the distance, one of her loyal old friends grazed—her horse, Rocket Man. She tooted the horn and he raised his handsome head. She buzzed down the window and called out to him, “Hey, Rocket Man. How you doing today?” He answered with a toss of his head and a whinny.

  She hoped Buddy would be at the house. He had been away two days on a case. She had gotten accustomed to his job pulling him away for days at a time, but she would never adjust to the loneliness she felt in his absence. As she drew nearer, she saw his car parked in the carport. Her spirits lifted.

  She had no sooner parked her sexy red pickup beside his ugly white state SUV before he greeted her at the door with a big grin. “Hey, Flash.” He was the only one who called her by the nickname her father had given her when she was a small girl, when circling three barrels on a fast horse had been the most important thing in her life. “Man, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said.

  She rushed into the strong arms of the one individual who consistently provided love and security to her life. She didn’t know how she had ever lived outside this comfort zone. The conversation with Edwina and Darla Denman crossed her mind and reminded her how his disapproval could threaten her well-being and she trembled.

  “You okay, sugar? I just felt your whole body shake.” He tightened his embrace. “I hate to say it, but it felt kind of good, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Debbie Sue rose to her tiptoes and planted a long, lingering kiss on his lips. “How was your trip?” she asked when they parted.

  “Typical.”

  “You caught the bad guys, huh?”

  “Nope. But we gathered a lot of evidence.”

  “Did they do something really bad?”

  “Murder.”

  Debbie Sue frowned. “Oh, shit. Really?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She knew that. And she knew that even if he did want to, he couldn’t and wouldn’t. The crime he dealt with every day went beyond serious. “Let’s go in the house,” she said. “I’ve got something to tell you that you are flat-out not gonna believe.”

  They walked into the kitchen to an antique Formica dining table that sat on one end of the room. It had belonged to her mother and had sat in this spot in this kitchen for as long as Debbie Sue could remember. When her mother had remarried and moved to Nashville, she had sold the house, everything in it and the twenty-five acres it sat on to Debbie Sue and Buddy.

  He eased his big frame into a chair, looking amused and perplexed at the same time. “You’re making me nervous. Is something wrong? Is it my mom? Yours? Edwina? Did something happen to Ed?”

  Instantly Debbie Sue decided definitely not to tell him tonight about the incident in Hogg’s. Maybe she would never tell him. She leaned forward and took his hand. “Nothing is wrong with anyone. I got an offer today I want you to hear about.”

  “An offer?”

  “Promise me you’ll keep an open mind and give it some thought before we have a big argument.”

  Buddy’s jaw flexed and he pulled his hand away. “This offer isn’t from that no-good sonofabitch Quint Matthews, is it? Because I haven’t forgotten the last time he made you an offer.”

  “Don’t say that. How many times do I have to tell you that Quint’s no threat to you and me? Don’t you know there’s not a living, breathing human being who could take me from you?”

  He seemed to relax and the pink color that had risen on his face faded. She took a deep breath and explained the day’s events, omitting the ketchup fiasco in Hogg’s, adding that she had offered the use of the house she and Buddy owned in town and not pausing long enough to let him get a word in. When she had finished the story she said, “So that’s it. That’s the whole thing. I told Ed you wouldn’t go for it and I don’t blame you. I’ll call her and tell—”

  “Wait a minute. Why would you think I wouldn’t go for it? I think it’s great. It’s a good thing to help people out when they need it. And this singing thing is something you and Ed will always look back on as fun.”

  “Well, remember we’re not really singing.”

  “Whatever. I gotta say, sugar, I’m relieved. After some of the hare-brained stuff you and Ed have gotten into, this is mild.”

  Hare-brained? Debbie Sue felt a frown tug at her brow. Buddy could be such a chauvinist sometimes. She tried to be annoyed over his trivializing the Domestic Equalizers’ activities, but how could she when he had just said it was great that she had donated the free use of their house and it was great for her to be on stage with Darla Denman?

  “Hare-brained?”

  Ignoring her comment, h
e came around to her side of the table and squatted by her chair, bringing himself eye to eye with her. “I can’t wait to see you onstage, Flash. When is it?”

  “Sunday. We’re supposed to go to Midland to rehearse tomorrow morning. It sure worries me that we’ll have only one rehearsal.”

  Buddy’s face took on a worried look. “Flash, I won’t be here Sunday. I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I have to leave for Austin tomorrow morning for a refresher course in forensic mapping.”

  “But you just got home.”

  “I know, I know, but—”

  “How long will that take, that mapping thing?”

  “Couple of days. Maybe three.”

  “Aww, Buddy—”

  “I know, I know. I just found out about it today or we could’ve planned for it better. But I’ll watch every minute of the telethon when I get the chance. It’ll give me something to brag about, you performing backup singing for Darla Denman.”

  Debbie Sue couldn’t keep from grinning at the idea that he bragged on her. “Really, Buddy?”

  “And something new to get teased about,” he added with a chuckle. “I’m tired of being teased about being married to a private detective.”

  Debbie Sue felt her hackles rise. This was the way conversations always went with Buddy. First he would say something that would make her spirits soar, then he would follow with a reality statement that left her confused as to how he really felt. She was the first to admit she was touchy when it came to what she and Edwina did in their roles as the Domestic Equalizers. In her mind, they had been very successful. She didn’t want to have to point that out, but she could not, would not, allow anyone, even Buddy, to make fun of the Domestic Equalizers.

  “C’mon. Who teases you? And why do they think Ed and I are so damned funny?”

  “Calm down now. They tease me because you and Ed have solved as many mysteries as I have. It’s no secret you do more than spy on cheating husbands and wives.”

  “I’ve never put Ed and me in the same league with the Texas Rangers, Buddy. Not once have I ever done that. And I wouldn’t. Ed and I don’t have to build a case that will stand up in court like the Rangers do. But if they think we’re some kind of joke—”

  “Flash,” Buddy said, speaking softly, running his hand down her arm, “you know that’s not true. Forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just guy stuff. We tease each other about lots of things.”

  “Like what? Tell me something else y’all tease each other about.”

  Debbie Sue could see he was deliberately thinking with a measure of difficulty. “Well . . . we tease Carlton Wilcox because his wife sells Mary Kay and drives one of those titty-pink Cadillacs.”

  Debbie Sue giggled.

  “We tease John Davis because he and his wife met in the reception room of a marriage counselor’s office while they were married to other people.”

  Debbie Sue laughed. “They didn’t.”

  “They did. And next to us, they’re probably the happiest couple around.”

  “A distant second to us?”

  “Very distant. Not even in the same zip code.”

  They kissed and this time the kiss was hungry and more demanding. Buddy stopped abruptly. “Just promise me one thing. Promise me you won’t get into any kind of trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Debbie Sue echoed with a show of wide-eyed innocence, while annoyance oozed from every pore. “What kind of trouble could we get into, standing on a stage and moving to music?”

  “I don’t know, Flash. And that’s what bothers me the most. When it comes to you and Ed, I seem to never know.”

  Midnight. Debbie Sue lay by her husband’s side staring into the darkness thinking about shoes. Those damned, ever-lovin’, ankle-breaking, red high-heeled shoes, to be precise. They were stashed away in her closet awaiting the next time she would bring them out, which was usually for a wedding or a funeral. She was capable of getting to and from the church wearing them, but she would never risk anything as daring as dancing, or even swaying.

  She had often marveled at women who could dance in high heels, turning and moving with catlike grace as if they were wearing flat shoes. Hell, even Edwina was a wonder to behold. That woman’s gravity-defying heels and platforms would have put Debbie Sue Overstreet’s face in the dirt before she knew what had happened.

  Buddy’s breathing sounded deep and rhythmic, which meant he was sleeping soundly. After they had properly celebrated his homecoming, he had gone right to sleep and hadn’t moved since. She carefully folded the covers back from her body and eased from her warm cocoon. She tiptoed to the walk-in closet and opened the door, cringing as its old hinges whined. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her, reached overhead and pulled the tassel attached to the beaded chain extending from the overhead light fixture. The sudden bright light made her shield her eyes for a moment, then she reached for the shoe box. She could have found it in the dark. Hell, she had only two boxes of shoes—the red high heels and a pair of black flats. The rest of her footwear was an assortment of western boots. She and Buddy both spent most of their lives in boots.

  She lifted the shoes from their box, slipped her feet into them and instantly became three inches taller. Confined to one spot, she swayed to and fro and tried to grind her hips, but the narrow closet was too restrictive. She clenched her jaw and eased the door open, praying the hinges’ prolonged whine didn’t wake Buddy. She stopped and listened, could still hear his relaxed breathing.

  Hanging on to the wall for balance, she tiptoed to the bathroom. The bathroom not only gave her more room, it was dimly lit by a bright full moon. She could see her full naked image in the mirror that hung over the vanity. She picked up a hairbrush in the way she had done as a kid and brought it to her mouth, making it her microphone. She began grinding her hips, her gyrations growing bolder. Her ankles didn’t buckle and the longer she danced the more confident she became. Hot damn! She was going to do this and she even began to believe she was going to enjoy it. Finishing her number, she held the microphone/hairbrush by her side and began to take bows in front of her imaginary audience. She was cut short by the clapping of a sole occupant attending her private show. Looking over her shoulder with dread, she saw Buddy’s partially raised torso resting on one elbow.

  “Encore,” he said, laughing, and she could feel her face go beet red.

  “Dammit, Buddy, that isn’t funny. You should have told me you were awake.”

  “And miss the greatest show I’ve ever seen? I wasn’t about to stop you. Besides, I’m not making fun, sweetheart. I’m just happy.”

  Debbie Sue stamped her foot. “No, you’re not. You’re laughing at me. I’m gonna sleep in the other room.”

  Buddy plumped her pillow and smoothed her place beside him. “Come back to bed, I’ve got some moves of my own I’ll show you.”

  Debbie Sue grinned. “You’re the devil.” She bent to remove one of the red high heels.

  “Hold on,” Buddy said. “Who said anything about you taking off those shoes?”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Debbie Sue sat in her pickup in front of Edwina’s double-wide, drumming the steering wheel with her fingertips. Sometimes it seemed as though her life was just one long episode of waiting for Edwina. She checked the dash clock. 6:45 A.M. She had been up since five. She wanted to be sure they had time to get to Midland by eight o’clock. Buddy had left at six and Debbie Sue had followed immediately after feeding the three dogs and Rocket Man.

  Releasing a sigh she shifted in her seat and pressed the horn. More than just a tap this time, in an attempt to send a nerves-on-edge, get-your-ass-out-here message.

  Seconds later, Edwina emerged, carrying the ever-present oversize Styrofoam cup that was most assuredly filled with Dr Pepper. To navigate the few narrow steps that descended from her wooden deck, she had to turn her size-ten feet slightly outward. Most noticeable today was that Edwina wore a straw hat with a huge flo
ppy brim that Debbie Sue had never seen before. This was a startling development, since Edwina never allowed anything to muss her beehive hairdo. Oversize sunglasses with dark lenses hid most of her face, preventing Debbie Sue’s seeing her eyes and reading her current state of mind, but a jaunty walk gave her away. Yep, she was jazzed.

  Opening the door, she threw her arms wide and proclaimed, “Good morning, Dew Drop! Isn’t this a glorious day? Isn’t this exciting?”

  Debbie Sue giggled. She had to admit this performing thing was beginning to feel like fun, especially now that Buddy had shown some enthusiasm for it. “What’s with the hat? I’ve never seen you willing to mess up your hair before. That thing has to date back to Woodstock. You trying to shield yourself from the paparazzi?”

  Edwina climbed onto the passenger seat. “For your information, I was a mere infant when Woodstock happened.”

  “Just a wisecrack, Ed. Not a comment on your age.” Debbie Sue yanked the Silverado into gear and pulled onto the road.

  “You ain’t gonna friggin’ believe what I did,” Edwina said.

  “Yes, I will. I always believe what you do. I might not understand it, but I always believe it.”

  “I melted that damn wig.”

  “The black spikey one? The one I liked?”

  “The very one. And I looked like a fox in it too.”

  “How in the hell did you melt—”

  “Vic was in the shower and hollered out and asked me to check his casserole in the oven. He was packing a lunch for the road, you know. No sandwiches or fast food for him. Any-hoo, that’s how my wig got roasted.”

  “You left a big part of this story out, Ed. How did checking his food—”

  “Dammit, I guess I stuck my head too far inside the oven.”

  “Ed, you kill me. Why would you stick your head into a hot oven?”

  “Well, du-uh. How else was I gonna see what was going on in there?”